


Homesick For A Place You've Never Been

by PastelWonder



Category: Spy (2015), The Mechanic (2011)
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-06
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 6,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PastelWonder/pseuds/PastelWonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Bishop believes in two types of interest: base instinct and acquired tastes.</p><p>His appreciation for good scotch and expensive vinyls is an acquired taste. His preference for soft women with a sweet smile and long dark hair is a base instinct.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Arthur believes in two types of interest: base instinct and acquired tastes.

His appreciation for good scotch and expensive vinyls is an acquired taste. His preference for soft women with a sweet smile and long dark hair is a base instinct.  

He’d had arrangements with a few of the prettier hookers on Bourbon Street, back when he was based out of New Orleans. They were usually too slim for his liking, but then that was by-and-large what the Crescent City clientele wanted.

He understood a thing or two about supply and demand, and he knew that in order to get something more… specific, he’d have to venture to one of the clubs on the east end that catered to his particular bent, and that felt entirely too overexposed. It was one thing to pick a trick up in a bar, take her back to her place for a good fifteen minutes of fucking, and leave the cash on the dresser on his way out. Quick, neat, discreet.

Sourcing a club for the type of girl that really got him cooking, meeting the madam, filling out the paperwork, putting down a credit card - that was a different matter altogether. For that amount of money and effort, he’d like to take his time, and that much time in a cathouse - in any house that wasn’t his, really - made him nervous.

Sometimes he’d meet a girl while he was out on a job. He’d tell her a line or two, give her a fake name and a fake occupation, buy her a nice meal and the rest. He scored more often than he didn’t, but it was different with girls he didn’t pay. It was… complicated.

Make it clean, that had been Harry’s motto. It had worked for him so far.

Which is why base instinct is the only explanation he can figure for the spectacle he’s been making of himself the past five minutes, trying to catch the eye of the woman standing two-people ahead of him in line for the teller.

He’s a half-step to the right of everyone, surreptitiously clearing his throat as he straightens his trench lapels and shakes his coat sleeve off of his Movado. She must be reading something, or playing on her mobile, because she doesn’t notice.

Bollocks.

He watches her ass jiggle as she steps up to the counter, picturing it rippling as he fucks her from behind.

Finally, she steps out of line with a stack of forms as thick as the width of his thumb. He watches her juggle them and her travel mug to a self-service counter at the other end of the lobby.

The corners of his mouth twitch up in a smirk as he steps out the queue. He pulls a few deposit slips out of the wall folder next to the teller window and casually makes his way to the counter, taking a spot a few feet from her. He pretends to puzzle over the slips while he gets a closer look.

Gorgeous. Big green eyes, a full, soft mouth, and long dark curls. She folds her arms on the countertop, tits pressing together over the conservative neckline of her cardigan, and shifts her weight from foot-to-foot as she studies her forms.

He watches her ass swish back-and-forth, back-and-forth, out of the corner of his eye, as he quietly clears his throat.

She gives him a polite glance and a small closed-mouth smile. Her dimples peek out at him under the apples of her cheeks, and all he can think is, _Done. Fuckin’ done._

He clears his throat again, louder, offering her a half-smile of his own when she turns.

She takes a longer look this time; his chest swells with masculine pride as her eyes widen a little and she blushes. She ducks her head, digging through her purse for something, and he’s about to tell her a line when she says a soft, “Ah-ha!” and holds out her hand.

“Got a tickle?”

 _Yes, please_ , is the answer that comes to mind. Instead he asks, “Beg your pardon?”

Ah yes, the accent.

He doesn’t miss the way her lashes flutter slightly as she repeats, “Tickle? In your throat?” She wiggles her fingers near her pearl necklace and gives him a wider, brighter smile.

It’s dazzling, dimples on overdrive, and he feels his heartbeat kick up a notch as he arches an eyebrow at her.

She jiggles something in her other hand, the one she’s holding out to him.

A cough drop.

“Ahh.” He accepts it with a slow smile, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Thank you.”

Her blush deepens. “Always come prepared - that’s my motto!”

“Funny.” He props his hip against the counter, settling in. “S’mine too.”

“Oh really?” Her head bobs. “Wow, that’s- that’s super cool!”

“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asks, savoring the deer-in-headlights look on her pretty face.

“Wonder… what?”

He leans in just a fraction to catch her eyes with his as he rumbles, “What else we ‘ave in common.”

He hears her breath catch, and he’s already picturing her bare-breasted and sighing beneath him when her eyes narrow and she asks, “Are you hitting on me?”

The tilt of her head is more playful than suspicious, but the question throws him off his game never-the-less. He weighs the odds and decides to play it straight. “Yes.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Thought so.”

He likes her.

“Have dinner with me tonight.” It’s a bold move, and perhaps a miscalculated one, because she hesitates.

_Shit._

“Dinner? With you? Tonight?”

He nods, watching her face.

“Well, that’s… to the point. You don’t beat around the bush, do you Mister..?”

“Arthur,” he says quietly, trying to seem harmless as he offers her his hand.

She gives him a tentative smile as she takes it; her handshake is surprisingly firm for such a soft little thing. “Susan. It’s nice to meet you, Arthur.”

“Pleasure’s all mine.”

He slips his hands into his pockets and waits patiently while she winds her necklace around her finger, thinking it over. “Ok,” she nods.

There’s a punch of adrenaline in his gut, like when his shot hits the mark clean-through. His lips twitch to hide a smirk.

She reaches across the counter for one of his deposit slips. “You aren’t really going to use these, are you?”

He snorts. “You’re on to me, Susan.”

“Oh yes. Definitely.” She writes her name and number across the back in a tidy scrawl. Then she picks up her stack of paperwork, taps it twice against the counter to straighten it, and tucks it under her arm. “So, see you later, alligator?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

 _Yep, base instinct_ , he thinks as she gives him another sunny smile before she turns and sashays out of the bank.


	2. Chapter 2

She glances around the restaurant, taking in the sparkle of the candle light reflected in the large picture windows as she says, “You know, I’ve lived in DC for almost ten years, and I’ve never been here before.”

He watches her over the rim of his wine glass as he takes a sip. She changed for their date, wearing a sexy little black dress with long sleeves and a deep v neck. Her hair is swept over one shoulder, diamond earrings twinkling at him as they catch the light. There’s a small matching stone on the delicate chain around her neck.  

He imagines tracing the chain with his fingertips as he asks, “Do you like it?”

“Mm.” She hides her mouth behind her hand as she chews, corners of her eyes crinkling in a smile. She swallows, nodding. “I do.”

She looks around again. “It’s beautiful.”

“So are you.”

His cock twitches at her shy smile and soft, “Thank you.”

She avoids his eyes, smoothing her napkin over her lap as she asks lightly, “So, Arthur, what brings you to DC?”

He thinks about the job he’s just finished. “Business.”

“What do you do?”

 _Kill people_. “I’m in sales.”

She cocks her head, the center of her brow creasing cutely. “Sales?”

He nods. “That’s right.”

“You… don’t seem like a salesman.”

That gets a soft laugh out of him. “Don’t I?”

She smiles. “Nope.”

_Clever girl._

He leans in a little, asking her quietly, “What do I seem like to you, Susan?”

After a considering look, she folds her arms on the table in front of her and says, “Not a salesman.”

“I sell antique cars. S’a different market - different clientele - than what you’re thinkin’, maybe.”

“Oh, I see,” is all she says.

“And you? What does the clever Miss Susan Coopah do for a livin’?”

She takes a sip of her wine. “I’m an analyst.”

“What do you analyze?”

“All sorts of things,” she tells him with a hint of mischief. “People, mainly.”

Interesting. He settles back in his chair, rubs his fingers in the seam of his lips. “People, is it? What - exactly - do you analyze them for?”

She straightens her silverware, watching him from underneath her lashes as she tells him, “The truth.”

Something kicks low in his gut; he’s too turned on to tell if it’s a warning or just nerves.

“The truth? Well, that’s quite a job.”

“It can be.”

Absently thumbing the edge of his plate, he lowers the timber of his voice and asks, “Do you know the truth about me, Susan?”

Flush dusts the top of her nose and cheeks as she smiles. “Yes. I think I do.”

He smiles back at her, because there’s no way she could if she’s sitting in this restaurant with him, and because it excites him at the same time to think that she might.

“Well that puts you at a bit of an unfair advantage, doesn’t it? Seein’ as I don’t know anythin’ about you.”

“Yep.” She grins, _Whatcha gonna do about it?_


	3. Chapter 3

He checks out of his hotel and into an extended-stay in Arlington, near the airport. He takes her out every night she’s available, which is only once or twice a week, because her job requires a fair bit of travel. She tells him she’s an auditor for a multinational commercial insurance firm, analyzing claim submissions for fraud.

Analyzing people for the truth, she’d said. He imagines that’s about the size of it.

DC is dense enough that he feels sufficiently anonymous, so he occupies himself with the city when she’s out-of-town, checking out monuments and museums and that sort of thing. It’s critical he does something to keep his mind distracted, because left to its own devices, it loops incessantly over Susan. Their conversations project on the backs of his eyelids like reels of tape whenever he closes his eyes. He hears her voice in the hum of the air conditioner in his motel room and in the sounds of the city as he walks the streets. His feet pound her name into the track on his morning runs. _Su-san Su-san Su-san._

He touches her as much as she’ll let him when they’re together - his arm brushing her shoulder as they walk, his knee knocking lightly against hers under the table in a restaurant, his hand hovering over the small of her back as they climb the stairs to her flat. When they kiss goodnight, he takes his time with her, reveling in the feel of her in his arms as his mouth moves against hers. He tries to memorize it - the curve of her waist, the weight of her breasts as they press against his chest, her hands smoothing up his biceps and over his shoulders - so that later, when he lies in bed with his fist around his cock and imagines fucking her, it feels real.

Then finally - _finally_ \- after almost two months of dinners and coffee dates and walks in the fucking moonlight, she tips her chin up and asks, “Want to come inside?”

His breath snags in his throat, so he nods.

They undress each other. Her fingers tremble so hard she can’t undo his belt buckle, and she huffs a laugh when he wrenches it for her, cables of his restraint creaking against the strain of so much adrenaline.

“Lie down,” he tells her, heat pouring through him when she does.

She strokes her hands over her breasts and belly. “Come here, Arthur.”

She’s soaking wet for him as he pushes into her. He grits his teeth at how tight she is, burying his face into her neck and groaning. She tilts her head, mewling as he drops hot open-mouthed kisses against her skin. He rolls his hips against hers, stretching her out, letting her adjust.

“Ok,” she whispers in his ear when she’s ready, stroking her fingertips along his spine.

He’s gentle with her, dragging moans and keens and sweet little whimpers out of her as they fuck. Her nails bite into his shoulder and into his ass, her head tips back in his hand, mouth open and eyes clenched shut as she comes, shuddering.

He holds out as long as he can, feeling his horizon start to tilt up and over as his gut tenses and his balls draw up and his panting becomes a harsh rasp.

Her hand strokes over his head and down his shoulders as she soothes, “Come to me. I wanna feel you come to me, Arthur. Come on.”

He comes, grunting into her hair with his jaw clenched so hard it creaks.

 _It’s done_ , he thinks as they lay side-by-side, her fingertips tracing the hollow of his throat. He expects to feel relief, and a sense of accomplishment, like when he’s finished a long job. He doesn’t.

Instead there’s something cold and sluggish slipping through his gut, too murky to make out through the haze of the afterglow.

He waits for her to use the bathroom, dressing quietly in the shadows of her bedroom. He’s tying his boot lace when she comes back out. Her eyes are wide as she looks between him and the bed.

He slips his hands into his coat pockets as he stands.

“I gotta go.”

“You… have to go?” She shifts closer to the bathroom door when he nods, arms coming up to cover her breasts.

It’s there again, that slick murky feeling in the pit of his stomach. His fingers flex in his pockets.

“O-ok,” she says to a spot on the wall somewhere over his shoulder. That’s all she says.

She presses back into the bathroom a little more as he moves towards the living room, looking everywhere but at him and her rumpled sheets. She doesn’t follow him, so he lets himself out, waiting until he hears her lock the door behind him before he heads down the stairs.

It’s cold inside his rental car; his breath comes out in short puffs of condensation as he grinds his key into the ignition.

An image of her - head tipped back in his hand, eyes closed and mouth open - flashes through his mind.

He flinches, stomach lurching like he’s being tipped off a high-rise building.

Susan, soft and warm in his arms, panting his name into his ear. _Arthur, oh God Arthur..._

Susan, sitting across from him in a restaurant, smiling softly. _What was it like growing up in Southwark? Aw, do you miss your parents? I never really knew my dad..._

Susan, hands cupped around her coffee, eyes bright in the light from the shop window as she chats animatedly about something. _-and I told her we’d definitely go. Of course we’d go. You do wanna go, right? Have I told you you’re my favorite Arthur..._

Laughing smiling whispering kissing touching _Susan Susan Susan -_

His hand slams into the steering wheel. “Enough!”

He’s shaking, he notices distantly as he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. He concentrates on lengthening and evening out his breath as her face, shuttered and blank as he left her apartment, materializes out of the static behind his eyelids.

 _Make it clean_ , Harry mocks from his grave.

He barks a laugh. This is anything but clean.

“Fuck.”

He’s not sure how long he’s sat there before he hauls himself out of the car and up the steps to her flat. He’s also not sure she’ll open her door as he knocks on it. He waits with his hands in his pockets, glancing up and down the rows of flats, listening for her footsteps.

His heart leaps when he hears them, faint on the carpet, and it stops when there’s a long pause before the lock turns and the door opens.

She pinches the neck of her robe closed with one hand, the other still clutching the door handle like a lifeline. Her eyes shine in the light, red-rimmed and lashes wet. She sniffs.

Something hot and barbed unfurls in his chest; it rankles him as it expands against his ribcage.

“Susan.”

“What, Arthur?” There’s a defiant tilt in her chin as she tips her head up to look him in the eye. She squares her shoulders back. “Did you forget something?”

He gathers her up in his arms. Her breath catches, mouth wobbling a little as he dips his head. He kisses her softly, tasting salt and smelling her perfume and the scent of his sweat on her skin. His chest aches.

She winds her arms about his neck, looking up at him with those big luminous eyes when they pull apart.

“It’ll never ‘appen again,” he promises.

It doesn’t.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh wow, he cooks too,” she teases, setting her purse on the counter next to her keys. She tips her chin up to kiss him as he wraps his arm about her waist and squeezes. 

“Watch out, ladies,” she smiles. “I’ve found the holy grail.”

He chuckles softly. “Don’t know bout that. S’just omelettes and toast.”

“And wine?” she asks hopefully as she opens the refrigerator.

“Top,” he tells her, shaking the skillet to loosen the omelette from the sides before he flips it. It lands in the pan with a quiet hiss.

“Ah-ha!” She holds up the bottle, flashing her dimples at him as she beams. “A feast fit for a king.”

“‘ad to learn a thing-or-two, livin’ as a bachelor so long.” He slides the omelette on a plate, dropping another kiss into her hair as she takes it.

“I like a man who’s resourceful,” she says over her shoulder on her way to the table. 

He smirks.  _ You ‘ave no idea, darlin’. _

“How’s the unpacking going?” she calls, eyeing the boxes as he rounds the corner with his plate and their glasses.

He takes the seat adjacent to hers. “Fine enough.”

“You’re sure you don’t want my help?” She gives him charming smile as she pours them each a glass of wine, singing, “I am a ver-ry good unpack-er!”

“‘ow was your trip?” he asks as he accepts his.

She snorts softly at his obvious side-step. “Smooth.”

He gives her a considering look. “Thought you liked it a bit rough.”

She spits her wine back into her glass. “Ha! Zinger!”

Warmth spreads outward from the center of his chest as she laughs. 

“Someone’s frisky.” She smiles. It’s a bit self-conscious around the edges, and shy, and it sucks the air right out of his lungs.

“I missed you,” he tells her quietly, concentrating on her hand as he takes it in his. Always so warm.

“I missed you, Arthur.” She raises his hand to her lips, kisses his knuckles one-by-one.

He tries to remember a time when someone touched him with that much tenderness. He can’t.

Heat streaks through his gut as she takes the tip of his index finger between her lips.

“Eat before it gets cold.”

She grins around him,  _ Or what? _ She nips his fingertip before she tells him matter-of-factly, “That’s why God gave us microwaves.”

_ Says the silliest shit, this one. _

She stands, taking his hand in one of hers and her glass of wine in the other.

He tilts his head back to look up at her, hand sliding up her thigh and over her hip.

She tugs the other one gently. “Come on - come show me how much you missed me.”

He savors the pretty look on her face before he stands. “Alright.” 

He lets her lead him to his bedroom, lets her undress him, lets her guide his hands to her breasts and his fingers to her clit as she rides him, because he wants to, because he’d set himself on fire if she crooked her little finger and asked for a light.

He’s in love with her.


	5. Chapter 5

“You are so OCD.”

“I’m not.” He looks around the platform until he finds the line for the car with exactly the right amount of passengers. Not too many, not too few.

She follows behind him, her hand in his, as he weaves through the throngs of people in the station waiting for the tube.

He turns to face her when they stop, smirking down at her. 

“Oh, is this one just right, Goldilocks?” she teases as she tucks her hands into his jacket pockets.

He hmphs softly, stepping up to close the gap between them.

He dips his head, just about to kiss her, when she sees something out of the corner of her eye and freezes, eyes widening and lips parting. Her hands ball into fists in his pockets.

“What?” he asks over the hissing of brakes as the tube pulls into the station. He glances over his shoulder, watching the crowd of passengers shuffle forward to board as he searches for something off. Something wrong.

When he looks back at her, her eyes are fixed behind him and she’s white as a sheet. “Susan?”

His senses kick into overdrive as he shifts, blocking her with his bulk from whatever is on the other side of him.

She blinks, inhaling sharply, and looks at him like she’s not sure who he is for a second.

His gut lurches. “Susan? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” is her immediate reply. She shakes her head, forcing a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes. She smoothes her hand down his chest. “Nothing.” 

Like hell. “You sure?”

She nods. “Mm-hm. I thought- I thought I saw someone I knew.”

Who would she be that afraid of? “Who?”

“Just… an old friend.” She peers around him one more time, a firm grip on his jacket lapel. He glances with her, eyes narrowed and mouth set in a thin, hard line as he scans the platform. 

It’s is nearly empty as the last of the stragglers board the train.

“It wasn’t him,” she says, trying to sound light. 

“Who?” His heart is pounding in his chest; he wills himself not to go tearing across the platform. She’s clinging to his coat lapels for dear life, knuckles turning white. 

“Susan, who did you think it was?”

“I want to go home.” She shakes her head once, twice, like she’s trying to throw off a daze. Catching the look on his face, she softens hers and says, “I-I don’t feel good. Can you take me home?”

The doors are closing - if he’s going to make it to that train car, he’ll have to sprint. Even if he does make it, he has no idea who he’s looking for, and his gut is telling him not to let her out of his sight.

He doesn’t miss her glance at the car behind him, or the way her shoulders sag with relief when the doors finally close and the tube pulls out of the station. 

“Please, Arthur…”

She’s shaking like a leaf, he realizes. He wraps his arms around her, because he doesn’t know what else to do, and strokes his hand down her long, soft hair. “Alright. I’ll take you.”

She lays her head on his chest, over his heart. “Thank you.”


	6. Chapter 6

She glances up at her flat through the windshield as he pulls into her complex. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

He switches the car off as he studies her face in the light from the streetlamps. “I insist.”

She’s distant, nervous, fidgeting with her necklace and dropping her wineglass at dinner. It shatters as it hits the floor by her feet.

He tells her to sit still while he cleans it up, checking and rechecking for shards of glass as she holds her bare feet above the floor.

She wants him on top when they make love. He brackets her in his strong arms as he moves above her in long, slow strokes. She touches his face, his shoulders, his chest, stretching up to cover his mouth and jaw with kisses as she whispers to him to fuck her faster, harder. “Arthur, please- Arthur… Give it- give it to me, Arthur please… Arthur, harder…”

His balls slap against her ass and his chest squeezes as he pounds into her, watching her face pinch like she’s in pain.

“Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” she begs him when he slows his thrusts.

“Susan-”

“Please, Arthur,” she whimpers, fingers trembling as they press against his neck. She’s breaking his fucking heart. “I need you. Arthur, please…”

He sits back on his heels and hikes her thighs up his, dragging her down the bed, opening her hips and widening her for him as he braces himself over her again. She coaxes him back to a brutal pace, gasping and wincing as she jerks beneath him with each thrust.

“Uhhn, Arthur- yes- uhhn! Arthur Arthur Arthur…”

She comes with a long, loud keen, head tipped back in the sheets, eyes clamped shut and cunt clenched so hard around him he can’t breathe. He’s only three strokes behind her, seeing white-hot static behind his eyelids as he comes.

He gathers her up in his arms as he rolls off of her, taking her with him. He concentrates on slowing and lengthening his breath, feeling his heartbeat fade against his ribcage and the muscles in his neck and shoulders go slack.

She says something into his neck; he feels her lips moving and her hot breath against his skin.

He isn’t listening, so he doesn’t catch it the first time. He leans back a little to look at her as he asks, “What?”

Her big green eyes search his for a moment. “I love you.”

He should feel elated, ecstatic. Instead, he feels sick to his stomach.

Everything is wrong.

He swallows against the tightening at the base of his throat and tells her, “Go to sleep.”

She looks at him for a moment, and then she folds her hands against his chest and tucks her head under his chin.

He lies awake, stroking his fingers gently through her hair and listening to the soft sound of her breathing as she sleeps, imagining all the horrible ways this could end.


	7. Chapter 7

He finds a seat on the arrivals side, near baggage claim, and sips his coffee until his contact arrives.

 

“Long time, no see, Art.”

 

He inclines his head at the man in a short corduroy coat. “S’been a while, ‘asn’t it?”

 

The man, Dave, takes a seat one-over from Arthur. “Heard you quit the firm.”

 

“S’that what they’re callin’ it?” Arthur smirks before he takes another sip of his coffee. 

 

“You’re an independent contractor now?” Dave asks with a hint of amusement.

 

Over the rim of his cup, Arthur says, “I prefer to think of it as freelance.”

 

“Must be nice being your own boss.”

 

Time to cut the bullshit. “Got anythin’ for me?”

 

“You on the clock?” Dave chuckles at his own joke, then says in a more serious tone, “The footage you sent from the subway’s security cameras was pretty pixelated, but I was able to do a clean-up and run it through some imaging software-”

 

Arthur tenses as Dave reaches inside his jacket.

 

Dave holds out a hand, Be cool. “It’s just a photo.”

 

Sure enough, it is. It’s in black-and-white, and it’s grainy, but Arthur can make out the details on the enlarged face of the man.

 

“Who is ‘e?”

 

“Bradley Fine. He’s a mechanic.”

 

Arthur’s chest tightens. How would she know a mechanic? “You sure?”

 

“Positive. He works for Bane and Associates - one of their top agents.” Dave sounds unimpressed.

 

Arthur keeps his face impassive at the mention of Bane and Associates. “Agents?”

 

Dave snorts. “That’s what they call them. How much more pretentious can you get, man?”

 

Interesting. 

 

He rubs his fingers in the seam of his lips. “And the girl? You find anythin’ on ‘er?”

 

Dave shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

 

Arthur feels his shoulder blades drop down his back and his gut start to unclench until Dave adds, “And I mean nothing.”

 

“What?”

 

“I ran her name, her picture - nada.”

 

Impossible. “What about the prints I gave you?”

 

“Ran ‘em too. Listen, Art: I looked high-and-low. This girl’s a ghost.” Dave shakes his head again. “There is no Susan Cooper.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Heya!” she calls from the door of his flat as she comes in.

He leans against the breakfast counter and folds his arms over his chest, watching as she works off her coat.

She gives him a sunny smile. “What’s shakin’, bacon?”

His chest tightens.

She has to be real.

“What’s wrong, baby?” she asks when he doesn’t answer. She rubs his arms, nose wrinkling playfully. “Did you miss me?”

“Yeah.” He clears his throat, trying to clear the strain out of his voice as he repeats, “Yeah, I did.”

She presses up onto the balls of her feet and kisses him. He unfolds his arms and winds them about her waist, soaking in her softness, her warmth. He can smell her perfume, taste the coffee she had on her way over.

She has to be real.

He loves her.

“I missed you,” she whispers as their lips pull apart with a soft smooch.

“Did you?”

Her eyes wander over his face. “So, so much.”

“Hey, listen,” she calls as she rounds the kitchen counter, opening a cabinet for wine glasses. “I’ve been thinking: we need a vacation.”

He studies her through the pass-through as he asks, “Oh? What’d you ‘ave in mind?”

“I don’t know...” she trails off as she concentrates on rummaging through the fridge for a bottle.

“Top.”

“Ha- there!” She gives him another bright smile as she turns; this one doesn’t quite touch her eyes. “Let’s do something spontaneous. No reservations, no plans. Just…” she mimics a breeze with her hands, “go where ever when the wind blows us.”

“Off the grid.” He doesn’t miss the way she hesitates for a second, glancing at him from under her lashes.

“We could call it that,” she nods slowly. “Yeah, I like that: an off-the-grid vacation.”

He comes into the kitchen as she uncorks the wine, pouring them each a generous portion. A little sloshes over the glass onto the counter.

“Everythin’ alright?” he asks quietly as he steps up to take her by the hips.

No, her expression tells him. “Yeah, I’m fine- great! Everything’s super great.” She smoothes her hands up his chest, eyes on the V of his tee shirt as she says softly, “I just... wanna get away for a while.”

Her eyes are huge and bright in the overhead light as she looks up at him. “Let’s go to an island - just the two of us. No cell phones, no wifi. Just you and me and a bottle of coconut rum on the beach.”

She laces her fingers together behind his neck, talking in almost a whisper. “We can make love all day, swim in the ocean, lay on a blanket under the stars... Just you and me.”

His chest feels like it’s tearing in two. “And a bottle of coconut rum?”

“Ha, yes.” Her laugh is breathless, lashes wet as she blinks. “Please, Arthur?” Her voice is so soft he can barely hear her. “We really… need to go.”

He reaches up to cup her face, watching tears slip out from beneath her lashes as her eyes close. “We’ll go right now.”

She let’s out a breath, practically sobbing in relief as she goes limp in his arms. She buries her face in his chest. “Oh thank God.”


	9. Chapter 9

Before they leave, he makes her strip down to her underwear and checks her with a EMF detector for trackers.

“Better safe than sorry,” she smiles wryly, standing perfectly still in his bathroom as he skims the wand up her legs, over her back and belly, along her arms.

As he gently gathers up her hair in one hand to scan her shoulders, he finds the bruises: four on the left side of her neck, and a larger one on the right.

His watches her face in the mirror as he reaches around her, carefully laying his fingers over the left contusions and stretching his thumb to touch the right one.

Someone choked her.

Hot adrenaline pours through him as his gut twists and his chest tightens painfully. Their eyes meet in the glass as he asks, “Did Bradley Fine do this?”

He expects her to be surprised he’s made her man. She’s not.

“Yes.”

“Is he your lover?” he asks quietly.

She lets out a startled laugh, turning in his arms as she shakes her head.

“No, God no. I-” She looks down at her hands, fingers twisting and knotting together as she explains, “We- Fine and I- we work for a firm.”

“A firm?” She can’t mean-

“Bane and Associates.”

He feels the floor drop out from under him.

“I’m not a... I don’t do field work. I’m an analyst. I collect intel - data - about the targets. For the agents.”

Analyzing people for the truth, she’d said.

“Fine is one of your men?”

“Yes. They-” She stops and swallows, glancing down at the floor between them before she looks back at him. Her eyes are wet, tips of her fingers turning pink as they twist tighter. “The people I work for... felt they had enough intel, and were ready to proceed. That’s why he’s here.”

To proceed. “Intel on me?”

She nods.

“You know what I am?” he asks her slowly.

She nods again.

_Do you know the truth about me, Susan?_

_Yes. I think I do_.

He closes his eyes, trying to squeeze out the image of her face at the restaurant. How the fuck did he miss this?

He looks at her, standing there in her bra and panties, lips parted and lashes wet, looking back at him with those big green eyes, and suddenly he knows exactly how he missed this.

Shit. Fuck. Goddamn.

He scrubs a hand over his face, props the other on his hip. “Who put out the contract?”

“It’s internal. The agency extended you an offer, after you… separated from Global Engineering. You refused.”

“Didn’t like the benefits.”

She huffs another laugh. “Arthur.”

“What about you? ‘ow do you figure into this?” He doesn’t want to know, not really. But he has to.

The tip of her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “The agency knows about your… reputation-”

He snorts softly.

“They wanted detailed intel before they sent their agent.” She hesitates. “You- your credit card statements and surveillance photos suggested you have… a particular… type.”

“What? Beautiful women?” he asks dryly. He fell for the oldest trick in the book.

God, he’s a fucking fool.

“Oh God, Arthur…” She presses the back of her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob.

Still falling, he thinks as he gathers her up in his arms. “Shh shh.”

He tips his head back, closes his eyes.

_Losin’ it, mate._

“W-we have to leave, Arthur. We have to go. They’re c-coming and we have to go-”

“Hush.” He takes her gently by the shoulders, peeling her away from him just enough to look at her.

“Arthur,” she whispers, “these men- they’re not like you. I’ve seen them do things- things you’d never do-”

He strokes her fringe from her eyes. “I can protect you.”

“It’s not me! I don’t care, I-” She shakes her head. “God, we are so fucked.”

“Must be, if you’re cursin’ like that,” he teases softly.

She snorts, dimples peeking out under the apples of her cheeks as she smiles in spite of herself. “This is really not funny, Arthur.”

He kisses her, feeling her tears roll over his knuckles and between his fingers as he cups her face.

Her hands are steadier as they cover his, breathing more even as they pull apart and she whispers, “We have to go.”

He touches his forehead to hers and nods.


	10. Chapter 10

The highway lamps sweep their light across the windshield in broad orange bands. As they near the border, the walls of evergreens and hickory trees on either side of the interstate become sparse, then gaping, as the south Georgia underbrush thins out to a few straggling tufts of long brown grass. Eventually the tall green trees fall away altogether and there's nothing but a few skinny palms and gnarled elm trees with long Spanish moss weeping from their branches. A rundown sign on the side of the road with a spiked orange sun and a plastic dolphin welcomes them wearily to Florida.

The clock on the dashboard says it's four am.

Beside him, Susan shifts in her seat. He thinks she's sleeping, her breath is so deep and even, so he's surprised when her voice peels back the silence in his old pickup truck.

"Where are we going?"

Her eyes are large and cat-like in the dark, two static gold-green reflections inside the shadows that shift across her face with the changing light. He sees them even after he looks away, projected out on the horizon.

He blinks twice. "Somewhere they won't follow us."

"Oh," she whispers. There's the dull _tha-thunk_  as the truck hurtles over a lip in the road, and then the roar of tires driving fast on smooth concrete. A newly paved portion of the interstate. He hears her thinking.

_Will she understand?_

There they are again, her eyes up ahead on the horizon.

"When?" she asks. Her voice is calm but faint. She's looking out of her window up at the sky.

He evades the question with one of his own. "Do you want to rest first?"

"Yeah," her voice is even fainter. "That'd be super."

**************************************************************************************************

They check into a motel, only fifty-five rooms. The Orange Motel. The bleary-eyed desk attendant accepts their cash through a slot in the bottom of the plate glass window, beside a sign that says they don't carry denominations large than fifty dollar bills and another that says all guests must present a photo ID. He doesn't, and the attendant never asks for one. Through a cluster of pin-sized holes further up the plate glass, the attendant tells them there's a breakfast buffet from eight to eleven, four-ninety-nine for guests, two-ninety-nine with an AARP card and free for children.

They don't have any luggage, which makes the single-file trudge up the flight of metal stairs an easier one. His hand on the small of her back guides her wilted body to the door marked 445, over the threshold, across the thread-bare shag and into bed. He sets the window unit to cool and pulls the thin quilted blanket over the both of them.

How long they sleep he's not sure. They wake up almost every hour, using their trembling fingertips to touch each other's lips and eyelashes, while they whisper different excerpts from the same story. The one about their life together. What sort of house do they have - a thatched hut in Fiji - what sort of work do they do - not a bit, but fish for lobster when they care to, and paint little seashells to look like famous people and former presidents to sell to tourist (he loves how strange she is) - how many children do they have - ten, or fifteen even, so many children they can't keep count, naked and brown-skinned from the sun, always laughing.

He can picture it perfectly: Susan, tan and bare breasted, swinging his babes in a hammock between two coconut trees. A thatched roof hut with lines of fish drying beside it and his schooner pulled in from the tide. The rattling hum of the air conditioner becomes the sound of the ocean rushing over the warm white sand of his home, of his memory, and he's there in the place he's always longed to be.

He's home.

"Should we go then, love?" he asks, his voice thick and sluggish around the lump in his throat.

Tears are dripping from her lashes onto her cheeks and down her neck. They turn the orange pillowcase under her head a deeper, redder color.

A sunset on the beach. Yes, they've lived to see the sun.

She nods.

******************************************************************************************************

Housekeeping finds them tucked together under the quilt like sleeping children, holding hands with fingers laced together. There's no note, just a single syringe on the peeling nightstand and the air conditioner turned up all the way. It's so cold that the sheriff's teeth chatter, and the coroner wears two coats as he gently peels apart their bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading :)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work that's been sitting on my Drive for forever. I'm hoping that posting it will motivate me to finish :>
> 
> Come on, Pastel. Don't kid yourself.
> 
> Your comments and kudos are *always* appreciated!


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